


Glow

by Bullfinch



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Slime, Touch-Starved, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6195922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scifi AU. Hawke, a xenobiologist, ventures aboard a ship abandoned by a group of illicit bioengineers. Inside he discovers an alien named Fenris. </p><p>And they do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Based on [this fantastic fanart](http://leandrasboy.tumblr.com/post/140482442868/30-day-otp-challenge-dirty-3-theres-goo) and slapped together very fast. My first AU! Hooray. I love scifi to death and I hope that shows through here at least a little. Also this is my first time writing any nonhuman smut so I hope that…doesn’t show through here? I ended up liking this concept a lot, so a sequel is probable!  
> Finally, thanks to lingering-nomad and xenosexual on tumblr for beta-ing!

Varric halts, and his voice comes a little frayed through the earpiece. “You guys have a scientific term for this stuff?”

Hawke scans the hallway as the airlock hisses closed behind them. It’s everywhere, for one. And glowing faintly in a rather bracing shade of vivid blue. “Er—I think ‘goo’ is the generally accepted designation.”

Varric grunts. “It’s not gonna eat us, is it? Or burn through our suits? Leave it to splicers to make weaponized goo.”

Hawke takes a couple of steps forward. The gravity’s at maybe half-strength, and only the dim auxiliary lights still shine along the matte-black walls. “Ship’s low on power,” he murmurs. “They must have abandoned it a while ago.” No heat signals, Merrill said earlier, except the engine room. The splicers must have ditched the ship and fled to the planet below.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve left us in their dust,” Varric sighs. 

The goo is stretched across the ceiling, walls, and floor in a style that reminds Hawke of cobwebs. He takes a vial from his belt and dips it with care into one viscous glob near the floor. The plastic does not melt, and the slime fills the container…just as it starts sliding up the outside of the vial towards his gloved fingers. Hawke yanks his hand away, abandoning his sample.

“Whoa,” Varric says, alarmed. “You okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Just, er. Try and stay away from it.”

“It’s everywhere.”

“Well—try not to touch it.”

“Great.” A light blinks through the transparent face of his helmet. “Oh, air’s safe to breathe here. Kinda chilly, but that’s it. No infectious particles or anything.”

Hawke disconnects his helmet, hitching it to his pack, and takes a breath. Chilly on his face, yes—perhaps ten degrees Celsius, he’d guess. The black suit is thick and snug to his skin and keeps the rest of him warm. But there’s oxygen here. And—a scent on the air. Not machine oil or burnt electronics or human odor. It smells…fresh. Almost floral. Kind of good, in fact. 

“Shall we?” Varric grins up at him.

“Right. Let’s.”

They proceed down the hall with caution. Hawke eyes the goo as he goes. Is it—sparkling? Bioluminescence isn’t uncommon, and it’s favored among splicers, considering its potential usefulness. But Hawke’s rarely seen it implemented so— _prettily._

He spends so much attention on the pinpoints of light that it takes him a moment to realize that the slime is gravitating toward him. Not very much—it’s almost imperceptible—but the webs bend, the globs swell in his direction. He glances over and finds the same is happening to Varric, although he’s yet to notice. “Er,” Hawke puts in. “I think I need to find the source of this goo.”

Varric gives him a pained look. “It’s gonna try and kill us, isn’t it?”

“If it _were_ trying to kill us, it’s done a very poor job so far.” Hawke raises a hand, tempted to touch it; but he masters the urge and pulls away. 

“Hawke.”

“I mean it! I think we’re safe. Ish.”

Varric groans. “I’ll go to the bridge and see if I can open up some doors for you. But if the interface is covered in goo, I am _not_ touching it.”

“Fair enough.”

They come to a split in the corridor. Minrathous Distribution has a number of this model of ship in their fleet, and Hawke’s familiar with the layout by now—the bridge to their left, and to their right, the containment units.

“Good luck.” Varric waves.

“Same to you.” Hawke heads right, down the dim corridor. 

He turns a corner. The walls here are practically covered in diaphanous pale-blue webs. Well, more of it probably means he’s getting closer to the source. The great double doors to the containment unit are at the end of the hall.

Standing open. 

Hawke freezes in place, reaching for his weapon. But no desperate, angry creatures come raging through the threshold to tear him to pieces. He knows that in low power, these ships will abandon the magnetic locks on the cells inside the unit, but never the outer doors. So the splicers must have left it open.

Or someone else opened it. 

_Some_ thing _else,_ he can almost hear Varric saying. But Hawke’s never thought of them like that. Monstrous as they often are, they never asked to be taken and experimented on and… _changed._ The angry ones have a right to be angry. Hawke flicks on the input on his earpiece. “Varric.”

A reply through the earpiece. “Yeah?”

“No need to work on the unit doors. They’re already open.”

A beat of silence. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine. I’m going in.”

“Keep your eyes open. I’m gonna see if the launch trajectories are still in the logs, we might be able to find out where they landed.”

“Right.” He turns the input off and creeps forward, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

No response. The sound of his voice seems a little dampened by the goo coating the walls. It definitely smells nice, he’s decided. Like the crisp, clean air high in the mountains of an un-settled planet, but warmer, somehow. The open door looms before him, and beyond it the databanks, the low, rounded hubs depowered and dark but for the glowing slime draped over them. In the rear wall the storage room door is open as well, revealing stacks of food and jugs of water. Hawke takes a deep breath and steps through. 

Two containment cells walled by clear plexiglass. One is empty and nearly spotless; the other is also empty but for the abundant goo, so that must be where the source of all of this lives, or lived, he supposes, since he doesn’t see it. Would the splicers have taken the creature with them when they fled? A risk, considering only one point three percent of the planet below has been mapped, and to control a potentially unwilling splice while contending with an unknown environment would be difficult. Not to mention the pods on these ships are crap. There simply might not have been room.

Hawke comes closer and calls out again. “Hello? Is there anyone there? I’m here to help.”

Still nothing. Hard to see in the near corners from this angle—they’re reinforced with metal. He goes around to the entrance of the cell. It’s standing open. As expected; the magnetic lock is dead in the ship’s low-power state. Goo gathers around his boots as he wanders inside…

Oh.

There, in the corner, a small creature sits balled up, watching him with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A number of things tumble through Hawke’s head all at once. _Bipedal, bioluminescent patterns on skin, pointed ears, black sclera._ He recognizes the species as elvhen. Their race has declined almost all offers of exchange with humans, and as a result very little is known of them. More details tick in, sketchy notes from the paragraph-long entry in his database: both sunlight and artificial light hurt their eyes and skin; only bioluminescence is safe. He notices that the goo covers all the auxiliary lighting in the cell. 

All of that clicking into place before the overpowering and mortifying tide of _beautiful, beautiful, beautiful_ , which Hawke shuts down firmly as soon as it begins. A completely unprofessional reaction. The elvhen _is_ beautiful, yes, but that is _not_ what he should be focusing on right now. He swallows and raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Garrett Hawke—Hawke for short—I’m a xenobiologist with a privateer ship. We work a contract to hunt down splicers and transport the victims for rehabilitation. I only want to help.”

The elvhen watches him still with those dark, shining eyes. “They…they are not here. They left me.”

His voice is low and a little rough, shaking slightly. A pang of empathy hums in Hawke’s chest. “Yes, that’s what we thought. How long have you been here alone?”

The elvhen thinks, then shrugs one shoulder. “Days. I’m not sure.”

“And—how long has it been since they abducted you?”

The elvhen shivers, curling up tighter. No clothing—probably chilly. “I was still only half-grown when they took me. And I could only keep track after I learned their language…ten years, perhaps?”

Ten years.

Hawke has heard it before, from those splices who could speak, anyway, but it never hurts him any less. He takes a stuttering step forward, then halts. “You—you haven’t been off this ship for _ten years?”_

The elvhen starts. “No! They took me with them to a number of planets. I am…rare. They sold tissue samples and brought me along as proof the samples were real.” Sold to other splicers, no doubt. For a pretty penny. “Often they would take me with them simply to teach me how humans live.”

“They…taught you?”

“Yes. My handler. He wanted me to…adapt, I suppose. I’ve spent perhaps half my time in this cell, if that.”

Hawke isn’t much comforted. “Have you got a name?” he asks. 

“They called me Fenris.”

“Would you like me to call you that? Or would you prefer something else?”

“I—“ A flicker of confusion. “No. ‘Fenris’ is fine.”

“And are you—male? Or female? Or something else, or…I’m sorry, elvhen custom really isn’t something I’m familiar with—” 

Fenris’s mouth quirks up in a small smile. “The elvhen give no import to such things. The…splicers called me male. It did not grate on me.”

Hawke finds himself smiling too. “You’re very articulate for a non-native speaker.”

Fenris shivers again, then inclines his head in gratitude. “Thank you. You’re very kind for a scientist.”

A faint buzz in Hawke’s ear, then Varric’s voice. “You okay over there?”

Right. Hawke whispers, “Sorry,” to Fenris, then taps the input on. “Yes, fine! The splicers left behind one guest in the containment unit. He’s very polite, I’ve offered him a ride.”

“Uh—great! Sounds good. Listen, I found the log, but it’s got some nasty encryption on top of it, so I might be here for…ah, I don’t know. An hour?”

“That’s fine! Let me know when you’re ready to go back.”

“Okay. Hey, you ever find where all that goo came from?”

Oh. Hawke had forgotten, despite the fact that it’s now covering his feet and slowly inching up his calves. He starts, stumbling back. The goo releases him without a fight, thank the Maker. “Not yet, but, er, I’ll keep you updated.”

“Don’t let it eat you, Hawke.”

“I won’t.” He flicks the input off. The slime’s climbing up his legs again, faster this time. “Fenris, I don’t suppose this is your doing?” he asks, slightly panicked.

Fenris’s black eyes shine, and he shivers more violently this time. “Please,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, but—please, I need warmth.”

Something that’s been bothering Hawke finally clicks into place— _no heat signals outside of the engine room._ So Fenris’s body temperature must be negligibly different from the surrounding air, which is…perhaps ten degrees Celsius. The fact that Fenris is still functioning at all is a miracle—unless elvhen are ectotherms, which is entirely possible, considering the dearth of information about them. But even so, ten degrees is far from optimal. “You need…” He glances at the sea of goo. “Then all of this is—“

“I don’t know what they did to me.” Fenris shakes his head, hugging himself. “But the slime, it—it comes from me now, and I feel it. I sent it out to scavenge for warmth, but there’s none left, there hasn’t been any for days. Until I felt you.”

In the corridor, when he tried to take a sample in his freshly autoclaved vial, and later when he went around with his helmet off. That’s why the goo gravitated toward him. Shit. Hawke wades forward, the layer of goo on the floor swelling with him as he goes. Warmth, how can he provide warmth? With the low-power settings, he’d guess the heating system is locked off, with only the residual heat from—

“The engines!” Hawke claps his hands. “We can get you in the engine room!”

Fenris shakes his head. “It’s sealed. I couldn’t get inside.”

Hawke touches his earpiece. “Varric? Would you mind popping the engine room doors for me?”

A pause, then a burst of incredulous guffawing. “Hawke, the engine room’s gonna have standard integral-system encryption _plus_ whatever Minrathous bullshit they stacked on top. I can pop the doors if you really want me to, but it’ll be…I don’t know. If I’m _really_ lucky, three hours. Probably four or five.”

Damn it all. “Never mind,” he mumbles. “You can keep on the log.”

“Okay.”

He switches the input off. His pack is full of devices for taking samples, plus a (heatless) lantern, some rope, and extra rations. The suit keeps him warm, but the power is bio-locked to his DNA to dissuade theft, and simple insulation won’t help someone who’s already freezing. Get Fenris back to the Drakon? Aveline’s taking it on a once-around to do preliminary scans on the planet below, and the launch they used to get here isn’t heated…

Fenris shivers again, and shakes his head. “You don’t have to. It’s enough you’re getting me out of here.”

Hawke has an idea, one which also strikes him as a very bad idea, although he thinks he trusts Fenris at _least_ enough not to hurt him—after all, he could have drowned Hawke in goo in about half a second if the whim struck him, but here they both are—so it _should_ be a perfectly fine idea, if only he could stop thinking about how striking Fenris’s angular features are, how beautiful those dark eyes…but no—he is a xenobiologist, a man of science, and he is _quite_ capable of maintaining his objectivity. 

He kneels and reaches for the clasp at his throat. “You…you can share my body heat, if you like.”

Relief breaks on Fenris’s face. “I—thank you, Hawke. Thank you. What they did to me—I could stay warm, once, on my own. But not anymore.”

Then the elvhen must have had _some_ endothermic capacity, but the splicers changed that for Fenris, at least partially. If his body temperature depends on the surroundings, no wonder he’s freezing. Hawke extracts himself from the stiff outer shell of the suit, leaving him in just the skintight, chin-to-toe gambezon underneath. _This is a terrible idea,_ he thinks again, as he begins to unzip it, exposing his bare skin to the chilly air. He shivers a little—

—and freezes as the goo surges up his body, splitting to delve into the suit and wrap around his chest. Fenris lets out something that—Hawke curses himself—sounds like a moan. “You are…warm.”

“That’s good,” Hawke says, in a commendably neutral voice. “Is it…helping?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” His mouth quirks in amusement as he gazes at Hawke’s chest. “There’s…so much hair.”

“Wait ’til you—“ Hawke chokes that one back before _‘see the rest of me’_ makes it out of him.

“Until I what?”

“Nothing!” Still, his arms feel a bit trapped, so Hawke slips them out of the gambezon suit and lets the top half hang at his waist. The slime advances down his limbs, and he feels the faintest tug of resistance when he moves them—as if it’s _allowing_ him to move. Varric’s words come back to him. _Don’t let it eat you, Hawke._

Bit late for that. It encases his chest completely. It’s cool but warms in seconds, liquid and gentle as rushes over him. It _flows_ against his skin, ebbing and swelling like waves on an ocean shore. The sensation is unlike anything he’s ever felt.

Meanwhile, he’s quite familiar with the sensation of his cock hardening, as it’s doing now, and he shuts his eyes, mortified. The problem is that space pursuit is a rather lonely job if one doesn’t have a partner on one’s ship, so no one else has _touched_ him in…he prefers not to think how long. And the rhythmic flow of the slime is…oddly sensuous— _no,_ it isn’t! It’s the instinctual movements of an organic material serving its purpose, that’s all. 

Fenris has begun to uncurl, his slender, muscled legs stretching out across the floor. Hawke tries very hard not to look at what’s between them. That would be rude _._ The slime rises up his neck, over his beard—and before he realizes it, it’s spilled into his mouth. He coughs.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” The slime retracts, and Fenris cringes a bit. “I…can control it, but it seeks warmth on its own.”

Hawke catches himself just before he blurts out how good it tasted. There’s something sweet in it, something he isn’t familiar with. The tendril traces his lip. _Bad idea. Bad idea._ “No, it’s all right,” Hawke replies. _Bad idea!_ He grits his teeth, cutting himself off. While the inside of his mouth is indeed warmer than his skin, the effect is surely negligible, since his skin has a much greater surface area—

—especially since the slime is slipping down over his stomach and hips, gliding into his suit over his ass— _I should tell him to stop,_ Hawke thinks absently, and forgets a second later. The goo isn’t quite smooth—or it is, but it’s _alive,_ textured, like a thousand fingers skimming over him at every second. He wonders what it would feel like on his cock and immediately tries to stop wondering that. Fenris’s eyes are closed, his hand braced on the floor, as if he is overwhelmed. His lips are parted, a few wayward strands of white hair brushing his brow. He is _very_ beautiful.

_No._ No. Hawke once more endeavors to put any amatory thoughts from his head. It’s only slime, after all, he reasons. It’s not like he’s offering his body to this elvhen for _sex_ —it’s only for the purposes of heat exchange, and only this…goo, not Fenris himself. And when Fenris said he could _feel_ the goo, that was probably just warmth and nothing more, surely?

Two long pseudopods slide down his thighs and spill together in the middle over his (shamefully hard) cock. 

Fenris starts hard, and the slime retracts. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—“

Hawke shakes his head. “It’s—it’s all right. I should’ve. Said something. My fault.” Another slick finger down the cleft of his ass. Should say something about that too, that would be a good idea—

It stops just above his hole. He looks up to find Fenris staring at him. “You…Hawke, you _can_ stop me. Please, if it’s too much, or if—“

Hawke shakes his head vigorously. “It isn’t too much, I—“ _Do_ not _let the elvhen fondle you._ He takes a deep breath. It’s almost certainly a breach of conduct, could lead to a loss of license—only if someone finds out about it, of course. “I don’t mind.” Shit.

Fenris stares at him a moment more. Then his black eyes drop from Hawke’s exposed chest down to where the already skintight suit is stretched yet more by the layer of slime on his thighs, as well as the bulge between them. “You…enjoy it.”

Oh. He’s smiling. Hawke flushes bright red. “Yes,” he mumbles. 

“I also…it feels—good.”

Hawke snorts. “Yes, well, that area’s generally quite warm—“

“Not only for the warmth. I—I _feel_ it.” 

Hawke looks up. The situation has suddenly become much more real. Still the slime does not invade further, only waits at the top of his thighs, moving in its endless flow over his skin. “Wait, you like it too?”

Fenris nods. Now he’s flushing, Hawke thinks, because his brown cheeks have just grown a little bluer. “They did not touch me, except to study me. It was always brief, and—clinical. I saw…other things, when I accompanied them off of the ship. They—taught me, they answered my questions. So I would understand. But they never touched me.”

Hawke takes a deep breath. “Would you…like me to touch you?”

A surge in the goo around his right arm, encouraging him to lift it, to reach forward…

He rests his hand on Fenris’s chest.

Firmer than he expected. He goes a little lower, tracing the ridges in his sides. Hard, flexible plates. Cartilaginous, probably. Do they replace his ribs, or just supplement the—

A surge at his left arm, bearing his other hand forward. Hawke follows it happily and rests his hand on Fenris’s thigh. The markings there are thicker than the ones on his torso _(each elvhen probably has a unique pattern,_ Hawke recounts), and he traces them with curious fingers—

Fenris moans.

_Definitely_ a moan this time. Hawke stifles one of his own. _Please touch me, please touch me—_ “Wait, wait, we need to talk about this,” he gasps. 

Fenris freezes. “I—of course.”

“So you’ve never…”

“Participated in sexual intercourse? No.” 

Well. Hawke’s glad he didn’t have to clarify. “You’ve never…done _anything?”_

“No. As I said, I was…studied. Exposed, examined, and caged again, nothing more. And I am watched, always. I never—took it upon myself.”

Hawke asks again, striving to find a good excuse not to do this. “Are you sure? _Really_ sure? It’s not just because I’m helping you or anything?”

“No, I want to try, and…I would welcome the warmth. But—only if you want to.”

Fenris gazes at him shyly. Hawke exhales. There’s probably some good reason he should be saying no, but he can’t think of it right now, and anyway, his cock aches to be touched, the slime just brushing his hole beginning to drive him mad. “Yes. I would like to.”

Fenris inches forward and kisses Hawke.

His lips are cool, which Hawke would like to fix, so he leans into it, growing more aggressive, his tongue slipping into Fenris’s mouth. Only for his eyes to flare open wide as an— _appendage_ slithers past his own lips. Elvhen anatomy. Different from humans, apparently. Hawke breaks away in time to see a long, pointed black tongue vanish behind Fenris’s smile. 

Then the slime squeezes— _squeezes_ his ass, parting his cheeks. “Yes—yes, please, inside—“ Hawke gasps.

One narrow tendril slides down his cleft and feeds itself inside him.

It’s so thin he hardly feels he’s been breached. “More,” he murmurs, kissing Fenris’s neck (ridged, he notes) and shoulder. The tendril widens gradually until he feels the stretch. “There, right there,” he pants. Eager as he is, it wouldn’t do to hurt himself this early. The slime doesn’t move, but it fills him up enough so that he feels it with everytwitch of his hips.

“Warm,” Fenris breathes. “You’re so warm…”

He reaches down with slime-covered fingers, opens the zipper of the suit all the way, and frees Hawke’s erection from the stretchy fabric. 

Hesitantly he begins to pump Hawke’s shaft, thumbing the glans with what looks like curiosity. “Is—is this right?”

Right. He’s never done this before. Hawke nods into Fenris’s shoulder. “Yes, that’s it, that’s good.” Kisses his chest. “May I…”

Fenris is still sitting sideways, and Hawke still hasn’t the faintest idea what’s between his legs. He hopes it’s something at least vaguely familiar, so he has an inkling of what to do; otherwise he’ll feel rather badly.

Fenris leans back, twists, and splays his legs. 

A long slit with night-black…labia? Maybe? Hawke’s surprised a group of human splicers decided on “male” (maybe it was the voice) but gender labels are poor classifiers for any alien, so he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. He slides one finger along the slit—it must be at least six inches long.

Fenris shivers, not from the cold this time. A blue flush blooms on his neck and chest, and he squeezes Hawke’s shaft, pumping faster. The slime, too, tightens around Hawke’s thighs and torso—nowhere near enough to crush him or impede his breathing, but the pressure over his whole body makes him moan, and a drop of precum seeps from his cock. 

“That’s—good? You like it?” Fenris asks.

Hawke blinks. Speaking. Right. “Yes, I like it. Oh—“

A band contracting around his chest, rippling down to his stomach and over his thighs, like a liquid massage. It ends in a swell of slime that oozes up between his legs to surround his balls, and it massages them too, which makes Hawke roll his hips, thrusting into Fenris’s fingers. “You are really good at this,” he says, dazed.

Fenris smiles, his thin lips curling in an expression decidedly human. “I’m glad.” 

Hawke explores Fenris’s slit. Most of it conceals a long opening, one into which he dips his fingers just enough to figure out what it is; the near portion, when the labia are parted, expands into a bloom of glistening blue-black—a soft, low swell with dozens of tiny folds, like the petals of a dahlia. Hawke strokes it experimentally.

A contented sigh. “That’s…that’s good.” 

All right, he can work with that. Then he finds the goo sneaking past his lips again. This time he opens his mouth and lets it spill inside.

It tastes like a flower smells, sort of, and he laps at it, swirling it over his tongue. Fenris starts. “Oh! I feel that!”

Hard to talk with his mouth being tugged open, but Hawke does it anyway. “Ah—you ca’h gi’h me—“

“You…want more?”

Hawke nods.

The slime surges forward, filling his mouth, bulging his cheeks. He sucks at it eagerly. The sweet, fresh taste really is incredible. Still he strokes Fenris’s nub, circling and rubbing it; Fenris shut his eyes and rocks his hips.

His markings have begun to glow. 

Hawke takes it as a sign he’s doing something right. But this is hardly _all_ he can do. He takes a deep breath, pushes his head forward, and swallows.

The goo pours down his throat. It shrinks to slip through the entrance, but he can feel it swell once it’s past—not in a painful way, but he touches his own throat, brushing the taut skin. It’s bulging with the sheer amount sliding into him. The thought is so arousing it makes him lose focus, and he gags. 

“I’m sorry!”

The slime withdraws, and Hawke coughs. Fenris grasps his thigh. “I didn’t mean to choke you.”

Hawke coughs again and then laughs. “It didn’t hurt. I actually quite like it, even with the gagging.”

Fenris hesitates, confused. Oh dear. How best to explain this? “I promise, I do like it,” Hawke says. “Could you feel it?”

“Yes. It was…”

“Good?”

“Yes,” Fenris mumbles. 

“Then go right ahead and do it again. Only not _too_ deep, and I will need to breathe every few seconds or so.”

“Yes, of course.”

Hawke opens his mouth, and the slime surges inside, plunging a few inches down his throat. Once it’s filled him it stays there and just rocks a little, deforming so as not to strain the entrance to his throat. It’s…soothing, actually, he thinks to himself, as the appendage pulls back. Hawke sucks at it, laving the underside with his tongue. He’s going to miss this taste. 

Then it dives into his throat again and he grunts. “Hawke,” Fenris moans, and leans forward, kissing Hawke’s stretched lips clumsily. “That feels amazing.” 

Hawke swallows, his straining throat working around the bulging tendril. Fenris lets out something that sounds like a whimper, and he crushes Hawke’s hand to his groin, rutting against him. The goo retracts, and Hawke works his tongue into the tip, his lips locking tight around it. He matches the rhythm of his sucking to that of the slime that still massages his torso, his thighs and balls. 

As the goo spills down his throat again, Fenris lunges forward and kisses him. 

That long, pointed tongue delves into him—but the goo remains as well, flowing endlessly inside his mouth as it gently fucks his throat. And Fenris’s tongue coils over his own, slick and inquisitive. Hawke’s back arches, and he bucks up into Fenris’s grip. Fenris breaks away. “You’re so warm,” he murmurs. “In…inside.” 

Hawke pulls back, and the goo seems to get the idea, easing out of his mouth; then he reaches behind him, spreading his hole. “You can give me more. Not too deep, but I could go for something thicker.”

He’s hardly finished speaking before the goo spills into him, stretching him open; he groans, lurching forward. All right, _now_ he feels the pressure on his prostate. Struck by an idea, he squeezes around it. Fenris’s grip on Hawke’s shaft falls open as he gasps. 

“You feel that?” Hawke grins at him.

“Mm—yes, it’s—it’s tight—“

Hawke grasps Fenris’s free hand and brings it to his mouth.

He sucks Fenris’s fingers, his tongue swiping them clean of the pearls of sweet goo. Another finger brushes his lips, and he lets it in, his lips locking all three of them. Fenris’s eyelids flutter, and he meets Hawke’s gaze. “Your mouth…”

Hawke pops off. “You like it?”

Fenris nods.

Hawke jerks his head at the long, low bench that lines the back of the cell. “How about you sit up there and I show you what I can _really_ do?”

Fenris kisses him again and rises. Hawke climbs to his feet with a bit of effort—hard to focus at the moment—and is delighted to find that the slime stays inside him, keeping his ass nice and full. He takes the chance to strip off the rest of the suit, discarding it on top of the outer shell. 

Fenris is sitting on the bench, his legs splayed. 

Hawke goes over—starts to and stumbles, the slime wriggling as he moves, which feels so bloody _strange_ but undeniably good at the same time—goes over and kneels in front of Fenris. For a moment he feels as if he’s worshipping at the altar of some alien deity, and it doesn’t seem so far-fetched, with the arcane markings making Fenris glow from head to toe, the semi-sentient goo flowing all around him. He leans back and parts his labia, exposing the little nub. “Please, your mouth…”

Hawke lowers himself to his task. 

The soft midnight-black flesh is sweet like the goo, although there’s a little tartness there as well. Hawke licks at the textured nub delicately, trying to get the measure of it. It’s incredibly soft, and from the way Fenris slouches back against the wall, it feels good. Hawke laps at it, teasing a bit, and Fenris’s hips roll forward—but Hawke backs off, glancing up and arching a coy eyebrow—

Then he lurches forward with a groan, his face pressed to Fenris’s thigh. The slime inside him… _grew._ He felt the bulge stretching his hole and then slipping through, the new weight settling heavy just inside his straining ring. Maker, he’s _full._

He looks up. Fenris is smiling. “I assume that means you want more?” Hawke manages. 

“Mm. Your interpretation of elvhen communication is quite skilled.” Fenris strokes Hawke’s hair. “You are a testament to your profession.”

Ah. Hawke appears to be guilty of underestimating Fenris, which is a strike against him as a xenobiologist, so he’s still just breaking even. Time to distinguish himself, then. He leans forward.

Fenris’s nub is more than an inch in diameter and almost as long, and Hawke envelops it completely, closing his lips around it and sucking. Fenris cries out in surprise and (Hawke congratulates himself mentally) arousal, so Hawke pulls back, keeping his lips sealed tight around it. The texture of the tiny folds gliding past is delightful. He rubs Fenris’s thighs, which are corded with muscle—in a truer sense than those of any human, he can _feel_ the thin cords and the ridges between skimming by under his fingers. Fenris grasps Hawke’s hands, and the slime ripples, squeezing Hawke’s stomach and chest. Tighter this time. Hawke breaks off and moans. “That feels so good.”

Fenris smiles again.

Hawke jerks as the goo—at _bloody_ last—rises up and grips his cock. The pulses of tightness alternate in a steady rhythm, squeezing first his body, then his shaft. The contractions are so powerful his body sways with them. And the texture flutters over his sensitive foreskin, the constant, liquid flow surrounding him. Fervent, Hawke dives forward once more.

This time he does not hold back, his tongue lashing the nub—it’s bigger now, he can tell—swirling it, lapping at it, dragging over it. Suddenly the tart flavor gushes into his mouth. He swallows, surprised, and sits back to see.

Clear, viscous pearls quiver like dewdrops on each tiny, curled fold. Oh. It secretes lubricant! Then—is the slit below not lubricated? Maybe this material has some other purpose? 

Hawke stops wondering about it when the slime undulates in his ass, pressing down on his prostate. He moans low and loud, sticking his ass out to coax it deeper. “S—sorry, I—got a bit distracted—“

“I understand.” Fenris hesitates. “It…feels good? When it moves inside you?”

Hawke snorts. “Noticed that one, did you? You wouldn’t make such a bad xenobiologist yourself.”

“Thank you. I’ve been told I am a quick learner. Is there…something you particularly enjoy? I might be able to do more.”

“Well, there’s a spot inside, toward the front, a few inches in…”

The tip of the tendril hooks, making Hawke grunt, and drags slowly down his tunnel. Almost…right…

“Oh, right there.” Hawke leans into Fenris’s thigh as the pleasure pulses through him. A well-timed squeeze on his cock makes him shiver. 

“I—I feel it. It is…firm.”

Hawke grins, understanding for a moment how his subjects must feel when he examines them. “That would be it.” 

“So I should…”

“Thrusting’s quite nice.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me, I am…inexperienced.”

Hawke reaches out, finds his hand, and squeezes it. “Is this all right? Do you want to…slow down, or wait, or…”

“No! I am enjoying this. Unless…are you comfortable?”

In answer Hawke leans forward and takes Fenris’s nub in his mouth again. 

Fenris’s thigh shudders under his palm. “Hawke, please, your fingers…my slit…”

Of course! A whole area he hasn’t explored yet. What a terrible partner he’s been. He shifts, tracing the slit with his fingers. 

“Mmh—yes—“ Fenris breathes. 

His labia (if they can be called that) are thin, so Hawke dips inside, listening for a reaction in case he’s doing something wrong. No sounds of pain or discomfort. Good. He sucks Fenris’s nub still, laving the underside with his tongue, and goes deeper. 

The slit is shallow—he’s two inches in before he hits the rear wall, spongy and soft. “Yes—stroke me, right there—“ Fenris murmurs.

Hawke obeys, dragging two fingers along the soft flesh. It’s interesting. He was half-expecting a birth canal, although the lack might explain the engineers’ “male” designation. Or perhaps he just hasn’t found—

Again his thought process is interrupted as a swell of slime breaches his hole, spreading the ring of muscle before it surges thick and heavy directly onto his prostate. Hawke’s shout is muffled, his lips still locked tight to Fenris’s nub. The bulge reverses direction, flowing back along the tendril until it pops out of him; then it enters once more. Not quite thrusting, but it might even be better. The stretch on his hole and his prostate with each motion—there are probably some toys that could replicate it, but he’s never tried them. It pumps into him at a steady rhythm, matching that of the slime massaging his body. Realizing he’s lost his focus, he gets back to work, licking up the tart fluid that trickles from Fenris’s curled folds, stroking firmly the rear wall of his slit. Is it getting…shallower?

“Hawke,” Fenris gasps, reaching down to grab Hawke’s arm. “Wait.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks up. “What? What is it?”

“I have another…another organ—“ He presses a hand to his mouth, the blue flush bright in his cheeks. “I can—keep it inside, or—would you like to see it?”

Hawke thinks at that moment he might just be the luckiest xenobiologist in the system, if not the whole quadrant. “Fenris. I would _love_ to see it.”

Fenris nods. “Then—then keep going—“

Without a second’s hesitation Hawke begins sucking him again and fingering his long slit. Definitely shallower. And that’s not all; something’s… _pressing_ against the nub, from the inside, pushing it against Hawke’s lips.

“I-it’s coming!” Fenris arches all at once, the curve of his back coming off the wall of the cell. Hawke finds his fingers pushed from the slit, and he breaks away to see what’s happening. The slit bulges out with an internal pressure, Fenris’s thighs hiked up on either side; and then the midnight lips part, something pushing between them with rhythmic motions that remind Hawke of orgasm—

A gorgeous alien member flops out into his open palm. 

It shines in the organic light. Nominally cock-shaped, although it doesn’t appears to have a glans; instead low, rounded ridges spiral around it from the tip to the bulbous base. The bioluminescent markings coil up the crevices between, a striking contrast to the dark, faintly iridescent flesh.

Hawke holds it and can’t decide what to do. He wants it inside him, but he also wants to suck on it until he’s extracted every bit of genetic material he can—does it issue genetic material? he bets it would taste delicious—and then kneel at Fenris’s feet until it swells again and he can do it all over. Although it _would_ feel incredible pounding into him from behind, all those spiraled ridges slipping past his sensitive hole as he cried out in wild pleasure—

“Is it…undesirable? I apologize, I should have warned you further.”

Hawke realizes he’s been doing nothing but staring for a few seconds. Oh. “Fenris, it’s _beautiful.”_ The last word barely escaping his lips before they part over the tip of the stunning organ. 

The texture’s like no cock or toy he’s availed himself of before. As he explores the underside of the shaft with his tongue, he realizes that an elvhen tongue would be much more advantageous here than a human one—it could coil around the organ, hugging the seams between the spongy ridges. Alas, he lacks any such adaptation. 

“Mm—“ His fingers tighten on Fenris’s thighs. The goo has stopped its gentle massaging of his shaft—now it squeezes the head of his cock, leaving the shaft suspended. 

“Lower,” Fenris murmurs.

Hawke obliges, sinking down, letting the organ fill his mouth. 

The pressure on his cock moves with him, enveloping more as he descends. He has to break away to laugh, and he plants a kiss on Fenris’s inner thigh. “That’s certainly one way to encourage me to stay focused.”

Fenris grins. “I’m sorry, I do not mean to imply I was unsatisfied.“

“No, I like it. Although to be honest…” Hawke squeezes Fenris’s member, jerking it slowly. “I don’t know if I can actually take that much of this thing. It’s sort of thick.” 

“Then do not worry. I will not deprive you.” 

The goo wraps tight around Hawke’s cock, contracting rhythmically as if milking him. He gasps as if the air’s been knocked from his lungs, only to feel a slender hand cover his own. “Are you all right?” Fenris asks, concerned.

“Oh. Yes. Er.” He tries to take deep breaths. It’s all a bit much. The slime swirls and pulses around him, and it’s still stretching his hole and fucking against his prostate, of course.

He decides that he _needs_ Fenris in his mouth, now. The organ is smooth against his skin, and Hawke grasps the bulbous base in one hand and then sinks down upon the shaft. 

As with the little nub above, the texture is delightful against his lips. He envelops as much as he can, letting the tip just brush the back of his throat. That’s about as much as he has the courage to take right now, so he sucks it lovingly, hollowing his cheeks, rocking back and forth. His lips seal around it as best they can with the ridges and seams, sliding up and down the thick shaft. His gaze flicks up.

Fenris is squirming, his arms braced against the seat. His eyes are hazed with lust, and he makes little noises of need. He slings a leg over Hawke’s shoulder and pulls him closer, hips rolling. Hawke stops what he’s doing to let Fenris fuck into his mouth; instead he massages the bulb and the lower part of the shaft with his hands. Fenris’s thrusts are gentle, like everything else he’s done so far. He reaches down and runs his fingers through Hawke’s hair with an affectionate smile. Hawke moans against the thick, firm flesh as the thrusting in his ass speeds up, the bulb popping past his ring and plowing against his prostate—

A thin whine in his ear. “Hey, you still alive over there?”

Oh, shit. Hawke pops off Fenris’s organ and taps his earpiece. “Varric! Yes, I’m here.” 

Fenris sits up a bit, and the goo in Hawke’s ass stops moving; but the loss of the sensation is so disappointing it almost overwhelms him, and he beckons at Fenris as Varric’s voice buzzes through. “Got some good news. This ship’s running an older version of their encryption.”

The glut of slime swells past his hole again, stroking his prostate before it pulls out of him and then plunges in once more. Hawke swallows a groan. “That’s—that’s great to hear!”

“Yeah, I don’t know what idiot was running security, but I haven’t seen these vulnerabilities since that model we found out near Rialto…”

Normally Hawke likes hearing these explanations—he enjoys learning what bits and pieces he can of encryption, and navigation, and the other things his crewmates specialize in—but right now he’s too distracted to absorb it. Still, it would be rude to cut Varric off, so Hawke lets him talk. He can’t exactly move back, either, with Fenris’s leg trapping him here. Instead, he takes the opportunity to slide his upper hand higher on Fenris’s shaft so he can lock his lips around it just above the thicker base, dragging his tongue over it, sucking at the spongy flesh…

“Hawke? You there?”

“Mm.” He comes off; Fenris is rolling his hips again, and his member slides back and forth across Hawke’s cheek. “Yes, still here.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to put you to sleep with the techno-talk.”

“No, it’s fine. It was interesting.” He traces one of the iridescent black ridges with the tip of his tongue, rotating his hand around the bulb.

“You okay? You sound kind of out of breath.”

Shit. “Really? That’s strange. No, I’m—I’m fine!” An ill-timed squeeze by the goo gripping his cock. He prays Varric will write off that break in his voice as a blip in the transmission.

“Right, well, it shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to finish up. So you can grab our new passenger and head to the airlock.”

Oh dear. “Ten minutes! Right!” He’s still bloody naked—and _covered in glowing goo—_

“See you soon.”

Hawke flips off the input. “So…it looks like we don’t have very long.”

“Ten minutes,” Fenris says.

“Er. Yes.” 

“Then we’d better hurry.” 

Exactly what he’d been hoping to hear, and he fastens his lips around the tip of Fenris’s organ and takes it as deeply as he can. The stretch on his entrance to his throat is just a bit too painful, so instead he sucks hard, laving his tongue over the thick ridges, squeezing and stroking the rest of the shaft and the bulb with his hands. The goo tightens around his cock, and the rhythm intensifies—all of it, how it jerks him, how it contracts around his body, how it fucks into his ass. Hawke comes off for a second, just enough to gasp, “More inside me, please, more—“

The bulge of slime grows, straining his hole as it pops past. The pressure on his prostate sends a new wave of pleasure flooding through him, and he moans, already sucking Fenris’s shaft again. Fenris’s leg tenses over Hawke’s shoulder, forcing him yet closer; he follows it, his mouth now filled completely, Fenris fucking into him with short, sharp thrusts. He can’t move much anymore, so he lets himself be used, and instead works the rest of the shaft and the bulbous base with his hands. 

His own hips buck as the orgasm nearly takes him, but he catches it in time, stuffing it back down. Not yet. Not until Fenris comes. 

Then the bulb— _ripples_ under his fingers.

“Hawke,” Fenris gasps. “Are you—are you close—“

Hawke, his mouth full, can only nod.

The leg around his shoulder slackens, freeing him. “You don’t have to—“

Hawke stays just where he is, the shaft filling his mouth, and gives the bulb one last good squeeze. 

He can’t see exactly what happens, but he feels it against his lips and fingers, how the ridges… _uncoil_ slightly as they bloat. Then they coil up again, tightening, and—heavens be praised—genetic material floods over Hawke’s tongue.

Like the clear liquid on the nub, it’s sweet with a hint of tartness. The goo in his ass swells, stretching him open just in time to amplify the orgasm roaring through him. His hips jerk as he fucks into the rippling slime, his balls drawn up, still held captive inside their viscous prison. The goo wraps and squeezes his entire body. 

His moan turns into a cough as Fenris’s seed continues to flood into him, but he swallows it ably—then swallows again, and again. It spurts out so fast and so copiously he can barely keep up, his cheeks bulging with the sheer volume of it, displaced by the tip of Fenris’s organ. Which is still coiling and uncoiling, the bloated ridges spending themselves inside his mouth. 

His own climax lasts twice as long as he expected, the slime massaging and milking him to coax every last bit of pleasure from his prostate and his twitching cock. But even as it ends Fenris is _still_ coming, his body rigid, legs shuddering to either side of Hawke’s head, his organ still issuing pulses of delicious seed. Close to thirty seconds, Hawke thinks, by the time the flood finally ends and he swallows the last of it, his stomach heavy and full. He bobs a little, licking the softening ridges, cleaning them of Fenris’s spend. 

“Hawke,” Fenris moans. 

Hawke sits back and sighs as the goo works itself out of his ass and retreats from his body. A bit of a relief, truth be told; it was all starting to get a bit overwhelming. He reaches back, tracing his loosened rim absently. Oh, yes. He was _stretched._ “How are you doing?”

“Mm.” Fenris parts his slit as his organ retracts once more. “I feel…I don’t know. It was. Incredible.” 

Hawke grins and stands with care, stretching his legs. He leans over and kisses Fenris on the cheek. “You were incredible too, you know.”

“Ah. Good.”

“Er.” He winces. “Just one more thing…maybe we shouldn’t tell my crewmates about this? Yet?”

Fenris chuckles. “I understand.”

Hawke thinks for a second. The regular showers won’t be running in the ship’s low-power state, but the _safety_ showers, installed in case of contamination… He peers past the glass wall of the cell and spots the shiny yellow cone hanging from the ceiling. “How about we both wash up a bit?”

He has to activate it manually, but the sprays of cold water comes down on them both. Fenris darts out of it at first; then he steps back in, shivering and miserable. Hawke isn’t all that happy about it either, but when the water’s run out he hugs Fenris for a good minute, until his arms have unfolded and wrapped around Hawke’s back instead. 

After Hawke’s donned his suit again, they head down the corridor. In one of the personal quarters Fenris digs up a set of clothes that don’t fall off his thin frame straightaway, and then they jog back to the airlock, where Varric is waiting already. He lifts an eyebrow as they approach. “You’re wet.”

Hawke’s hand goes to his damp hair. Ah. “Er, yes, the slime…we had to use the safety shower.” 

“Wait, so it _is_ dangerous?”

“No,” Fenris puts in. “Just, er…slimy.” 

“The safety shower was the only one still working,” Hawke adds. 

Varric looks back and forth between them. Hawke strives to maintain a neutral face, something which he is notoriously bad at, especially with Varric.

But his cover is maintained, for the moment, at least. Varric nods at Fenris. “You the passenger?”

“Yes. My name is Fenris.”

“Nice to meet you. Varric.” He sticks out his hand, and they shake. “Welcome aboard the Drakon. Or, well, Drakon pod zero-one. We should make rendezvous with the main ship in a couple hours.”

“Thank you. I owe you a great debt.”

A chuckle. “Actually, the Marches Bioethics Agency is the one who owes us a debt. You just have to sit back and tell us where to drop you.” 

Fenris hesitates.

Hawke looks up sharply. He hadn’t thought about it. The normal protocol is to relocate splices to their home planets, if they’re still of sound mind, but Fenris was taken from there as a young man and practically raised among humans, not to mention the fact that the elvhen are so adamant about no human contact at all…

Varric seems to sense the awkwardness, and he cuts in to staunch it. “But we can figure all that out later. Come on, let’s head out.”

He triggers the airlock, and the matte-black doors slide open. Something brushes Hawke’s fingers. 

He glances down, takes Fenris’s hand, and leads him onto the pod. 


End file.
